


It's just another night

by BarricadeKitten (Dominatrix)



Series: I'm staring at the sun but all I see is you [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras is pining while he lies next to Grantaire, Friends With Benefits, M/M, a bit of angst, right in the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2199207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/BarricadeKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is always gone before dawn breaks, before the city stirs her sleepy limbs.<br/>Enjolras always awakes alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's just another night

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in the Les Mis fandom! *throws confetti*  
> Can I just say that I adore Enjolras/Grantaire? Gosh, these two.  
> Any writing prompts go here: youforgavewithoutmercy.tumblr.com  
> Love, Liz x

It is just another night. Another time.

Enjolras can't sleep. Does he try? He can't remember. He just hears the slow breaths next to him, feels the heat radiating off the body lying close, but not touching him.

They never touch afterward. Sometimes, Grantaire leaves right after they are done. More often than not, he is too tired and stays at Enjolras's place. He is always gone before dawn breaks, though, before the city stirs her sleepy limbs.

Enjolras always awakes alone, granting that he manages to fall asleep in the first place.

He turns his head to look at the other man. He has his eyes closed, lying on his side facing Enjolras, dark curls tangled from sleep. Enjolras often dreams about burying his hands in them, with his eyes wide open, just focused on Grantaire.

He feels incredibly stupid. This time, it is for his thoughts.

He feels stupid for being angry at Grantaire because he is always winding him up the wrong way, and for letting Enjolras kiss him a few months ago after a meeting, in a dark alley nobody looks into when they can avoid it. Enjolras had stood there, pressing Grantaire against the filthy wall, the smell of the street penetrating his nose and almost making him sick, and kissing him, one hand at his throat. He had bruised the sensitive skin involuntarily in the process, and Grantaire had had to wear his scarf tight around his neck for the next few days.

It has almost become a normal thing to release pressure like this. And Enjolras is angry at himself for always giving in again when Grantaire comes to his place. Of course he never knocks. It is Grantaire. He always finds a way in.

He hates what they do. Not while they do it, of course. But after. He hates that he feels the stupid urge to leave his mark on Grantaire; to remind him that he has been there, that it has happened, although the both of them give their best to forget it. He can't though, can't even leave a particularly harsh bite on his hip bones because he knows Grantaire sleeps around. He doesn't want to risk questions being asked.

He hates that he has to turn his face away when he sees Grantaire with another woman, sometimes another man, and he hates the cold feeling in his stomach and the roar of his mind. Sometimes, during the meetings, he wants to go over to him, wipe the smug look off his face with a rough kiss and take him then and there. Right on top of a table, if necessary. Just to show the others that they should stay away. That he is _not theirs_ to touch.

"What is it?"

He hasn't noticed that Grantaire is awake, and that he is still staring at him. Grantaire's forehead wears a frown, and for a sweet, sweet moment, Enjolras can allow himself the weakness to believe Grantaire truly cares.

He wants to stretch out his hand, trace Grantaire's jaw with his fingertips and kiss his forehead to smooth the wrinkles. He wants to caress him, with all the sweet touches he dreamed about but for which there is never a place or a time during their encounters. He wants to fall asleep in his arms and wake up with Grantaire next to him, grumpy and with horrendous morning breath.

"Enj" Grantaire mumbles softly, stretching a hand out to ghost over Enjolras's upper arm, but stopping halfway and retreating again. It is a boundary none of the two dare to cross. The nickname feels unfamiliar when it comes from his lips. "What is it?"

Enjolras clenches his jaw. He knows he is falling in love with him, and he doesn't like one part of it.

"Nothing" he says coldly and turns to face the wall. "You should leave now."

He hears the opening and closing of Grantaire's mouth, followed by a shift of the mattress when he rises to dress. Enjolras doesn't move, just keeps his eyes focused on the blank wall, as if he wants to look right through it. The door clicks shut without another word from any of the two men. Enjolras rolls on his back, staring at the ceiling now.

 _Until next time_ , he thinks.

He doesn't sleep that night.


End file.
